


la vierge sage et l'époux temporel

by guan_lupe



Series: ain't them bodies saints [5]
Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Christian Lore, French History RPF
Genre: Allegory, Alternate Universe, Bisexual Male Character, Crack Relationships, Crushes, F/M, Gen, Historical References, Mysticism, POV Female Character, Poetry, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Roman Catholicism, Saints, letter format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 11:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18342710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guan_lupe/pseuds/guan_lupe
Summary: the little flower and the antichrist





	la vierge sage et l'époux temporel

**The Suffering of a Little One  
**4 Apr. 1893, Feast of St. Isidore of Seville

M. Guillot's gift  
Astonishment  
Excerpts from M. Rimbaud's  _A Season in Hell_  
Mercy for little ones  
Stubborn attachment

Letter to Reverend Mother Agnes of Jesus,  
Prioress at the Carmelite Convent at Lisieux

  
+Jesus

 

Dear Mother, it's per your request that I write to you about the incident that happened last Monday, when a copy of M. Arthur Rimbaud's prose-poetry entitled  _A Season in Hell_ was gifted to us by the Guillot family for reasons unknown, and how, henceforth, I was tasked with perusing the material so that some conclusion be made as to how we Sisters of Carmel should glorify God through such incident. 

 

In advance, I ask you please forgive my unusual tone. I find myself quite restless in my attempt to collect my thoughts and express them to you. 

 

I've concluded that an appropriate thank-you letter should be sent to M. Guillot with a gentle reminder of our role as apostles to the apostles. No doubt, M. Guillot has good intentions. In order to understand how, Reverend Mother, you must, please, consider the material. 

 

I could know nothing certain of M. Rimbaud. From his work, by his syntax, he seems to be fluent in several other languages besides French - most certainly Latin and English. He also seems to have written this text while still an adolescent, for there are several instances in which he betrays an obviously youthful exuberance, and some language that would have been in vogue during the time of publication (1873, the year of my birth, as my _sister_ Pauline knows so well!).

 

However, it's apparent that M. Rimbaud was, and possibly still is if he still lives, not only learned in the mysticism of the faith but also obsessed with our Beloved Spouse!

 

Please allow me to explain. I pray that my little observations be of use to you, in the Spirit of God, or at the very least serve as straw that may be burned as an offering to the Almighty and fuel for your prudent chastisement.

 

The poet has divided his  _Season in Hell_ into eight prose-poems, including "Delirium" which consists of two parts, "The Foolish Virgin" and "Alchemy of the Word." The eight are as follows: "Bad Blood," "Night in Hell," "Delirium (I & II)," "The Impossible," "Lightning," Morning," and "Farewell." "Alchemy of the Word," in addition, includes six metric poems.

 

The young man purposefully turns himself into an instrument of the devil so as to demonstrate God. As though the Most High needs the measure of a child's descent into depravity so as to manifest Himself! I confess that at first I was appalled. I felt the familiar wave of despair I so often felt as a child - all the sorrow of having been parted from my precious Pauline, my Marie, and the darkness I knew until the Blessed Virgin deemed me worthy of one precious smile. How could I describe the despair at discovering with my own senses that a pitiful soul could express such an accurate depiction of Hell? Without having the proper words, I can only say that it's a strange blessing to feel such repulsion! Please allow me to make myself clear. In his poetry, M. Rimbaud is fabricating an experience for his audience. He expresses what we know to be most unholy. Oh, what times we live in when a bright mind may turn so dark! What confusion, and how I wish I could shield it from you! But, it's God's will and by your wise counsel that I should reveal my findings. I confess, that at finishing the poet's fifty pages of work, I found myself in a stupor. You can recall, Mother, I allowed myself that day to be completely distracted during None prayers. I didn't finish supper. I was distressed during Vespers. For allowing myself this distraction, I've made penance.

 

For, there was no Heavenly reward in having been distracted by this man's experience, or in wondering too much as to why M. Guillot would send us such a text. As our Mother St. Teresa so wisely implores, with the intent to console us: "Let nothing disturb you, let nothing frighten you, all things are passing away: God never changes." What's more, Our Splendid Lord, Wisdom Incarnate, implores, "resist not evil" (Mt. 5:39) and asks, "if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even Gentiles do the same?" (5:47) We are to be as _perfect_ as Our Loving Father, and to forgive.

 

Of particular peculiarity, is that M. Rimbaud has written the following entitled "Infernal Bridegroom" from "Foolish Virgin" to which I respond, solemnly, with His Majesty, "If only you had known on this day what would bring you peace! But now it is hidden from your eyes" (Lk. 19:42):

 

> His kisses and his friendly arms around me were just like heaven - a dark heaven, that I could go into, and where I wanted only to be left - poor, deaf, dumb, and blind. Already, I was getting to depend on it. And I used to imagine that we were two happy children free to wander in a Paradise of sadness. We were in absolute harmony. Deeply moved, we labored side by side. But then, after a piercing embrace, he would say: "How funny it will all seem, all you've gone through, when I'm not here anymore. When you no longer feel my arms around your shoulders, nor my heart beneath you, nor this mouth on your eyes. Because I will have to go away someday, far away. Besides, I've got to help out others too: that's what I'm here for, although I won't really like it... dear heart..." And in that instant I could feel myself, with him gone, dizzy with fear, sinking down into the most horrible blackness: into death. I made him promise that he would never leave me. And he promised, twenty times; promised like a lover. It was as meaningless as my saying to him: "I understand you."

 

What hideous circumstances are described here, dear Mother! I gather that the poet wishes his audience to experience the prince of the world's [the devil's] motives for the three temptations in the desert. With what aridity he speaks as the bride of Antichrist! What bold, honest mockery of the Canticle.

 

One other example is such, a metric poem from "Alchemy of the Word," which brought feminine tears up from my weak heart but which I was able to control thanks to grace:

 

> Far from flocks, from birds and country girls,  
>  What did I drink within that leafy screen  
>  Surrounded by tender hazelnut trees  
>  In the warm green mist of afternoon?
> 
> What could I drink from this young Oise,  
>  Voiceless elms, flowerless grass, dark skies! -  
>  Drinking from these yellow gourds, far from the hut I loved?  
>  Some golden draught that made me sweat.
> 
> I was a disreputable sign for an inn.  
>  \- Later, toward evening, the sky filled with clouds...  
>  Water from the woods ran out on virgin sands,  
>  And heavenly winds cast ice thick on the ponds;
> 
> Then I saw gold, and wept, but could not drink.

 

Oh, that this parched poet could drink from living waters! That he could water his soul with the fount of life so as to cultivate a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valley, pleasing to his Lord and Savior, far more pleasing than the treasures of the world (gold)! A little flower.

 

My conclusion is to pray fervently for the salvation of poor M. Rimbaud, that God may illuminate him to his unquestionable experience as _one of the five foolish virgins_ (Mt. 25:1-13). It seems only fitting to graciously thank the Lord for allowing us this glimpse into a soul. How righteous is God! How fitting that such a person's writing come into our awareness. Would not the Almighty have mercy if His beloved daughters supplicate for this sad, suffering man, that he receive graces, so that one day he may experience "a lavish banquet for all peoples on this mountain [Jerusalem]; a banquet of aged wine, choice pieces with marrow, and refined, aged wine" (Is. 25:6)? For, I see in this man - and, please, forgive my ignorance and employ your compassion on my scruples - a "little one" so eager to run into the arms of his Lord but not recognizing Him. He seems to me like St. Mary Magdalene on Easter morning or the travelers to Emmaus. The little one looks intently at the devil, permitting him to disappoint and to corrupt. It's an attempt to capture the Lamb and sacrifice It as though that hadn't been the All Merciful God's plan all along! 

 

Oh, Mother, I feel an unbridled affection for M. Rimbaud that I must receive penance for. I beseech you, though, to consider the argument I've made before confessing this stubborn attachment. You know my character is weak.

 

For, I say this and pray it's understood intimately by you: if I hadn't been destined for my Eternal Spouse by that same Spouse, and if this M. Rimbaud had been destined to have submitted to the Spirit who is Charity, I would have liked such a fervently devoted temporal spouse. Forgive my admission, and have mercy on your daughter.

 

Your servant in Jesus Christ and His Most Holy Mother,

The very little Sister Thérèse of the Child Jesus of the Holy Face,  
Carmelite nun  
⚜️

**Author's Note:**

> "Jesus came down to my level, and taught me the lesson of love quite secretly. If learned men who had spent their lives studying had come to question me, they would surely have been astonished to find a fourteen-year-old girl who understood the secrets of perfection, secrets which all their expert knowledge wouldn't help them to find, since only the poor in spirit can possess them."


End file.
